Make It Better
by E. S. Young
Summary: Max is a very ill little boy. Jude does his best to make it better and, in the process, realizes just how much he cares for his best mate. Max/Jude. One-shot.


**Make It Better**

By

_E. S. Young_

Note: This plot is so unoriginal it isn't even funny. However, the idea has been niggling at me for some time, now, and I finally submitted and put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard, as it were. I'm such a tool. Anyway, hopefully the writing is good, even if the idea is a recycled one.

Also, this is set sometime between _Oatmeal Raisin Cookies_ and _I Will_. Yay for the ever-increasing-yet-still-unspoken boy-love. :)

**۞۞۞**

"Aren't you coming?"

"Mmmph," was the muffled response.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't quite catch that."

"I said 'No, Jude, you lousy fucker, now shut the hell up."

"'_Lousy _fucker?'" he exclaimed in mock-offence. "Funny, if I recall correctly, last night you were singing a different tune. Something like, 'Oh, God! Oh, Judey, you're the most _amazing _lover in the world! With your tantalizing tongue and staggeringly vast co—'"

"Y'know," Max interrupted, "I would say that you've been hanging around me too long, except there's no such thing."

"True, luv, very true." He smiled, reaching down to brush a few strands of blond hair out of his friend's face, silently noting how long it had grown since they had first met. Frankly, he wasn't shocked that Max was tired—they had gotten in late the previous night, rather that morning. Half-high and completely inebriated, they had stumbled into the apartment, haphazardly pullng at one another's clothing. They had finally collapsed onto their bed an hour later, sweating, chests heaving, so entangled with each other that it was impossible to tell where one boy ended and the other began. Several hours later, Max had awoken and staggered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, only to stop and pass out on the couch halfway back to the bedroom. He had been curled up on lumpy, moth-eaten piece of furniture ever since, his mug sitting on the end table, full of stone-cold coffee. It wasn't that it was entirely unusual for Max to sleep in—the lazy bastard got at least twelve hours of rest a day—it was simply that he had crashed there early that morning; it was now rather late in the evening and his best mate still hadn't moved.

"Besides," Max said into the couch cushions, "last night I didn't feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Ah, so you're hungover, then?" he mused.

"Man, I don't _do _hangovers," the blond protested, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain.

"STD, maybe?" he ventured, grinning.

"Fuck you."

"Sorry, can't at the minute. Sadie'll be pissed if I'm late. Besides, I wouldn't wanna fuck you if you've got a STD, now, would I?"

Max took the required energy to give him a very half-hearted one-finger salute before covering his head with his arms and groaning.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuuuuuck…_"

"Oh, c'mon. It can't be that bad."

"_You _don't have to feel this way, ass." He sighed. "Shit…I think I'm sick."

"Hungover, y'mean," he corrected.

"Damnit, Jude, I'm _not _hungover!" Max exclaimed, lifting his arms enough to glare up at him with bloodshot eyes. Well, he certainly _looked _hungover. "Some fuck-buddy you make. I'm over here dying and you don't show even a _little _sympathy. You could've offered to stay home with me or make me some soup—or at least thrown me a blanket, for Christ's sake. But no. Instead you chastise me for being hungover, which I'm _not_."

He raised an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"D'you _want _me to stay home with you and disappoint Sadie?"

"Not if you're gonna be a cheese-dick about it."

"All right, then. I'll just be going."

"Meh," his friend replied, pulling a cushion over his head.

He smiled, tugging at the pillow, wanting to try and steal a kiss before he left, but Max would have none of it. Being the stubborn, childish little wanker that he was, the American turned his back to him. Uttering a "Fuckin' tosser" of annoyance, he rose from the couch, grabbed his jacket and hat (the former actually belonged to Max, now that he thought of it), and headed for the door.

"Ready?" Prudence asked brightly as she emerged from the bathroom, dressed for a night out, makeup fresh and sparkling on her pretty face.

"Yeah."

She looked over at the miserable figured that was huddled on the couch and lifted her chin in his direction.

"I'm guessing he's not coming?"

He shrugged. "He's ill, or so he says."

"Mm," Prudence murmured. "And by 'ill' you mean 'hungover?'"

"Fuck. You. _Both_," Max declared from the couch. "You'll be sorry when you come home and fine me half-dead with a hundred and twelve degree temperature."

"It's a risk we're willing to take," Prudence said before turning to slip her arm through his and leading him out of the apartment.

With one last glance at Max, he rolled his eyes and followed her through the door.

Bloody pillock. He was probably faking, anyway.

**۞۞۞**

"_Yes, I'm lonely. Wanna die._

_Yes, I'm lonely. Wanna die._

_If I ain't dead already_

_Oooh…_

_You know the reason why!_"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to concentrate on Sadie's smoky voice and keep his thoughts away from the miserable, ailing boy that he had left at home. Alone.

"_In the mornin'…wanna die._

_In the evenin'…wanna die._

_If I ain't dead already,_

_Oooh…_

_You know the reason why!_"

However, the agonizing number that his landlady had picked to sing wasn't helping him in the least.

"_My mother was of the sky,_

_My father was of the earth,_

_But I am of the universe_

_And you know what it's worth!_

_I'm lonely! Wanna die!_

_If I ain't dead already,_

_Oooh, you know the reason why!_"

"Jude," Prudence sighed in exasperation. "Stop it."

"_The eagle picks my eyes,_

_The worm, he licks my bones._

_I feel so suicidal—_

_Just like Dylan's Mr. Jones!_

_Lonely! Wanna die!_

_If I ain't dead already,_

_Ooh, you know the reason why!_"

He blinked at her.

"What?"

"You know what," she stated flatly. "Knock it off. Except for the fact that he's Max, he's perfectly fine. You know what he's like—he's probably just got a headache from too much _indulging _and is milking it for all it's worth. I mean, he's been hitting it pretty hard these past couple of days—we all have. This time next week, we'll probably all feel just as shitty as he does, now."

"Yeah…" he agreed absently.

"_Yeah_," she echoed sternly. "So, please, stop brooding?" she implored, half-pleading, half-concerned. Clearly, the girl was eager to become lost in the moment, enraptured by the music, but he was distracting her.

He gave her a brief smile.

"Sure thing, Pru. I'll be good."

She flashed a smile of gratitude in return before turning back to the stage, eyes only for Sadie.

He turned his gaze to the sexy singer, as well, determined to push Max and his ridiculous melodrama to the back of his mind.

"_Black cloud crossed my mind._

_Blue mist round my soul._

_Feel so suicidal_

_Even hate my rock 'n' roll!_

_Wanna die! Yeah, wanna die!_

_If I ain't dead already…_

_Oooh, you know the reason why…_"

**۞۞۞**

All things considered, he hadn't had nearly as much to drink as he normally would have, nor had he chosen to consume any other mind-alternating substances while at Sadie's gig. He had, however, found a girl to take home with him. She was a pretty bird that went by the name of Sally and had long, sweet-smelling hair the color of carrots, big brown eyes, and the cutest sprinkling of freckles he had ever seen. And she said that she was absolutely in love with his accent.

"Uh, I'm right through here," he told her, motioning to the door behind him that led to his apartment.

"Sounds good to me, baby," she replied, smiling.

He grinned as well, leaning in to kiss her, feeling her smile widen against his lips.

"Jude, honey, you mind? As cute as you two look, some of us have plans," a slightly raspy, Southern-hinted voice said from down the hall. He looked up to see Sadie and JoJo coming up the stairs, arms wound lovingly around each other's waists.

"Sure, Sadie, no problem," he called back, turning to unlock the door before the singer and guitarist started making out right there in the hall.

"How cool is it that she's your landlady?" Sally mused, looping her arms around his neck.

"Hopefully very?" he guessed, turning the knob and walking backwards, leading her inside.

"Mmmhmm… Bedroom?"

God, why couldn't all girls be like this one? He placed his hands on her slender hips.

"Just one thing," she began, suddenly serious. "You've got protection, right?"

"Yeah," he assured her, gently tugging her in what he thought was the direction of his bedroom. That is, until the back of his legs hit the couch, causing him to stumble and fall onto the soft cushions, taking Sally with him.

"Hey!" he gasped.

"Oof!" Sally giggled.

And a loud, rather painful sounding "Ow!" came from the couch.

"Shit, Max?" he asked, glancing down in confusion. Sure enough, he and Sally were sitting on a pair of skinny legs that were attached to his blond, American, and now royally pissed-off best mate.

"God damnit," he swore furiously, his voice raspy and not in a pleasant way like Sadie's. "I'd _just_ fallen asleep…" There was anger in his tone, but also something else. Helplessness? Confusion as to why, after having finally drifted off, it was ripped away from him?

"Sorry, sorry, I'm leaving," he quickly apologized, leaping up while being careful not to knock Sally to the ground in the process. He hovered, awkwardly scratching the spot behind his ear—the sensitive spot that only Max knew about. "Uh, listen, mate, you—you don't need the bedroom, do you? I mean, you weren't planning on using it or any…thing…" He broke off, watching as his best friend sighed and dropped his head into his hands as if it had suddenly become too heavy to hold up any longer.

"Jude…" he sighed wearily. "Go _away_. I might still be able to salvage some sleep." Max sniffed, sounding horribly congested as he rubbed his temples.

It was then that he noticed number of crumpled tissues that littered the floor around the couch.

"Max," he began, feeling stupid, not to mention more and more inconsiderate by the minute. "What is all this?"

"I told you I was sick," he moaned bitterly. "Jerk."

He winced. So much for not feeling guilty…

"Oh, don't you feel well?" Sally asked suddenly, sounding oddly sympathetic considering that she had never met Max before.

"_No_," Max spat, though he was glaring up at him rather than Sally. "Now, if you don't mind…"

"Sure thing," she replied smoothly. "Don't worry. I'll keep him out of your hair." She turned to him, pulling him away from the couch. "Now, I know I said this before, but, bedroom?"

As the corners of his mouth twitched upward, he felt his guilt begin to recede just the tiniest fraction.

"Right this way."

**۞۞۞**

The following morning, he shuffled into the "whatever room," noting that his best mate still had yet to move from the couch to a more comfortable sleeping place. Although, granted, this was possibly because there weren't any other places available, save for the bed that they shared, which was currently occupied by a peacefully dozing redhead named Sally. He paused for a minute, listening with growing concern to Max's ragged breathing before heading into the kitchen where he found, much to his surprise, Sadie sitting at the table sipping a mug of coffee.

"Up before two, eh?" he asked as he went about making himself a cup of tea. "What's the occasion?"

She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Woke up. Couldn't fall back asleep. This tastes like shit," she commented, scrunching her nose up at the mug in her hands.

"I think it's yesterday's."

"Mm, that would explain it." And she took another sip, regardless of the taste.

"So, uh…how's Max?" he asked, trying to sound merely curious and not concerned. "I mean, is he feeling okay?"

"Frankly, I'm a little worried about him," she replied. He felt his stomach clench. Sadie sighed, running a slender finger along the edge of her coffee cup. "Poor baby spent half the night in the bathroom prayin' to the porcelain god, if you know what I mean."

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear him?"

He shuffled his feet and raised his eyebrows, throwing a meaningful glance at his beaded bedroom door.

"Guess not," she said, unable to hide a smirk as she rose from her chair to dump the last of her coffee down the sink. Leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, she said, "I'm headed back to bed, but I'll send JoJo out to pick up some cold medicine a little later, unless you wanna go now?"

He was about to reply that, yes, of course, he'd run out and buy half the bloody pharmacy if Max was truly as ill as she said he was but was cut off by the nerve-grating, gut-wrenching sound of a coughing fit.

Sharing a wide-eyed look of concern with Sadie, they rushed into the other room to find Max sitting up on the couch, hair dull and limp, beads of perspiration shining on his ashen face as he clutched his stomach, slowly swaying back and forth.

"Max," Sadie began worriedly. "You okay, honey?"

He swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

"No…"

Without warning, Max pitched forward, and he had to close his eyes at the sound of his friend being violently ill all over Sadie's living room floor.

He was at Max's side in an instant, wrapping his arms around the frail, trembling frame and pulling him close, tucking the blond head beneath his chin.

"Shh… It's okay, it's okay now," he whispered, rubbing the tense back, wanting badly to soothe the other boy.

Clearly, he wasn't faking it after all.

**۞۞۞**

He gasped, breathing harsh and labored as he desperately tried to take in air, his chest aching, belly heaving painfully. He shuddered and buried his face against Jude's chest, suddenly chilled to the very bone. Sadie's bathrobe, as smooth and silky as it felt against his skin, provided no heat whatsoever, though he pulled the thin garment tighter around himself nonetheless. But Jude was there, and his hands were warm and wonderful as they made little circles on his back.

"Poor luv," he heard him murmur. "You don't feel well at all, do you?"

He found that he could only moan in response, snuggling deeper into Jude's strong, comforting embrace, needing his warmth.

"Shit, mate," the Brit sighed. "M'sorry. 'Bout earlier."

Damnit, didn't Jude realize that he could have cared less about that so long as the bastard stayed put and didn't move? He was sick, _so _sick. Fucking miserable. But the feel of Jude's heartbeat was soothing, the sound of it sweet in his ear. And the throbbing in his head began to fade just a little as he regained control of his breathing.

He pressed his palms weakly against Jude's chest and silently begged him to stay.

**۞۞۞**

He let out a sigh of relief as Max began to take in slow, steady breaths of air through his mouth. He held tight to the smaller boy, brushing his lips across the clammy forehead, and gasped upon feeling the intense heat that was radiating off of him.

"Sadie," he murmured frantically, looking up at his landlady. "He's hot."

To his confusion, she smirked a little as she strode toward them.

"You don't need to tell me, sweetie. God knows he informs us all of that at least three times a day."

"No, I mean, he's got a fever!" he explained, his concern for Max making him uncharacteristically short-tempered. The blond whimpered, now shivering uncontrollably in his arms.

Lips pressed together in a frown, Sadie reached out and pressed the back of her palm to Max's forehead.

"Shit…he's burning up."

"Who is?" a sleepy voice suddenly asked.

They turned and looked up in time to see Sally pushing aside the beads that acted as his bedroom door.

"Oh," she said upon seeing the bloke she had shagged the night before cradling a pretty blond boy in his arms. She blinked several times, taking everything in before giving them a small nod and saying, "I'm guessing he's gotten worse?"

"Yeah."

"Well, um…I should probably be heading out. Wouldn't wanna get in the way." She briefly laid her hand on his shoulder, smiling faintly. "It's been fun—and I still think your accent is as sexy as hell, baby." She winked. "Hope he feels better."

"Thanks," he said, flashing her a surprised but nonetheless grateful smile. She returned it. And then, after turning to give Sadie a small wave, she opened the door and was gone.

"Cute kid," he heard his landlady murmur. "I'm gonna go get JoJo; tell him to pick up some stuff."

"Yeah," he agreed, already making a list. "Tell 'im cough syrup, whatever kind of cold or flu stuff that you Yanks use, more tissues, and some of that smelly cream shite…I can't think of the name…y'know—you rub it on your chest and it opens it up?"

"Vics Vapo Rub?" she said, arching her eyebrows.

"Sure, that's probably it. Ask JoJo to get that, too. Poor bugger sounds really congested." He trailed off, absentmindedly brushing a few strands of hair out of Max's face.

"You should get him to bed—anywhere is more comfortable than that damn couch," Sadie suggested. "Don't worry about the mess," she continued at his questioning look. "I'll clean it up. Or, I'll get someone else to do it, anyway." She yawned. "Probably heading back to bed, myself."

"Right…" He glanced down at Max, tenderly stroking his cheek. "Hey…mate? Can y'hear me?

Blue eyes flickered open—fever-bright, glazed, weary, and just barely focusing on him.

"Sadie says I need t'get you in bed, luv," he told him gently. "Can you put your arms around my neck?"

Long lashes fluttered in a moment of bewildered debate before Max gave him a tiny nod, leaning forward dizzily and pressing his burning forehead into the crook of his shoulder.

"Okay," he said quietly, wrapping his arm securely around the other boy's back. "Let's try it, then, yeah? Easy, now. Careful."

Like a sleepy child, Max raised heavy arms and looped them around his neck. He pulled the limp body closer to his own, slipping his free arm beneath Max's legs, securing his hold.

As he lifted Max off of the couch, he found himself wishing that he could make some complaint about how heavy the other boy was, but it was so untrue it would have been almost morbid to do so. Max was such a skinny thing… One of these days, a good breeze was going to knock him over and into a shrub or something. If he happened to be there at the time, he'd laugh, but be sure to help pull Max to his feet again.

Muttering a quiet "thanks" to Sadie, he watched as she leaned down and kissed Max's cheek.

"Feel better, baby."

His friend's eyes opened very slightly—just narrow blue slits—and their landlady received the tiniest of smiles before the blond head dropped back onto his shoulder, eyes falling shut once more.

**۞۞۞**

He was very gentle as he lowered his friend onto the bed, making certain that his head rested against the pillows, pulling the covers up over his shoulders, tucking him in.

With a worried frown, he sat down next to Max on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to rub his tummy soothingly.

"Judey..?"

He blinked, having thought that Max had fallen asleep.

"Yeah?"

His friend hesitated, licking dry and cracked lips.

"Could I have a glass of water?"

He smiled slightly—a request rather than a demand? What, did the crazy bastard think that he would say no?

"Sure thing, mate." He leaned down and kissed him sweetly. "I'll only be a mo."

**۞۞۞**

He kept his word, returning only a minute later with the promised glass of water, which he placed on the nightstand as he helped Max to sit up, his arm around the boney shoulders. His friend eagerly accepted the proffered beverage and began to down it quickly.

"Ah, careful there, mate," he said warningly, reaching out to pull the glass away from him. "Last thing I want is you throwing up again."

"Mm…right," Max admitted hoarsely, wincing as he massaged his throat. Sighing exhaustedly, he collapsed against him, the blond head resting on his chest. Slowly, he lifted a shaking hand and twined their fingers together, clinging weakly. "Don't leave, okay?"

He squeezed his hand. "'Course I won't. You're bloody mad if you think I would."

Max rolled his eyes. "I think by now we've already established that I _am_." He swallowed painfully. "Just…don't wanna die alone."

He smiled, shaking his head. "It's the flu, luv. People don't die from the flu."

"They did, back in the day."

"This is hardly 'back in the day.'"

"Wish it was. At least people back then showed more concern for their boyfriends' well-beings."

"Don't start with that," he warned. "I feel bad enough as it is."

"You're sorry?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"I don't hear you apologizing."

"That's because I already did!"

"Be that as it may, I'd just gotten done _puking _my_ guts _out, if you recall, and therefore did not register the apology in my delirious state. So, say sorry again." He suddenly grew tense, shivering once more and snuggling closer. "'M cold."

"Fine, I'm sorry. And here." He pulled the blankets over them both, wrapping quilt after quilt around Max's thin, shaking form.

"Jesus, I feel like shit," his friend gasped.

His brow furrowed. Damn, he hated seeing Max—his normally bright, energetic Max—like this. He didn't really know what to say, could think of no words that would offer any comfort. Anything he could have said would have sounded cheap and hollow—and, ill or not, Max would immediately point it out. So he merely held his friend tightly and hoped that that would be enough.

**۞۞۞**

He must have nodded off, for the next thing he knew it was late in the afternoon and the bed was shaking and creaking with the wretched bout of coughing that the boy beside him was doubled over with.

"Max!"

Immediately sitting up, he placed a hand on his friend's back and began to massage it firmly, methodically, growing ever more worried for the other boy. When the coughing at last subsided, Max was spent, drenched in sweat, his shoulders quivering as he struggled to take in ragged breaths of air. His lovely face was pale and drawn with sunken eyes that were red-rimmed, watery, and blown with pain. He pressed a hand to his chest, gasping.

Carefully, he wrapped his ailing best mate in his embrace, wordlessly lifting his hand to Max's forehead, biting his lower lip in worry.

His temperature had not receded in the least.

He sighed, feeling deeply troubled as he nuzzled the top of the shaggy blond head with his cheek. He was being stupid, overreacting—Max simply had a cold; he wasn't going to die. It would probably last a week at the most. Ah, still, though… That knowledge did very little. It didn't console him in the least, nor did it change the fact that his best mate was quite ill. He sighed again, at a loss.

Miraculously, despite his feverish state, Max seemed to sense his distress.

"I'm not getting any better, am I?" he asked, his voice small, almost childlike.

He kissed his cheek, hugging him tighter.

"You'll be fine, luv. I promise."

"Fuck," his friend muttered, squirming in his arms and tugging at Sadie's pink bathrobe as if the garment had suddenly become uncomfortable. "Why is it so hot in here?"

He raised an eyebrow in confusion—it was the middle of February; the apartment was practically an icebox. But it was then that he remembered Max's sweat-soaked clothing. Of course—a fever didn't stop at the chills. He could have kicked himself for being so thick.

"Don't worry, mate," he murmured softly into Max's ear. "I've got an idea."

After gingerly helping his friend to lie back down, he quickly got to his feet. Wasting no time, he hurried to the bathroom where he turned on the sink and grabbed a washcloth, which he proceeded to soak in the freezing water. No less than twenty seconds later, he was at Max's side again, gently dabbing the cloth to the searing flesh, trailing it lightly over his face, cheeks, neck, shoulders, chest…

"Better?" he asked, folding the cloth and placing it on the still-warm forehead.

"Mmhm," came the soft, blissful reply as Max slowly began to cool down. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Okay."

He smiled a little, feeling reassured, at least somewhat, by this response.

**۞۞۞**

"C'mon, mate. You have to take the stuff."

"No thanks," said a muffled voice from underneath a pile of blankets.

"Stupid git—take the damn medicine!"

"Nope. Don't wanna."

"Just so you know, I'm not opposed to sitting on top of you and forcing it down your throat."

Max coughed a little, but still refused to give in.

"I like it rough," he retorted meekly.

"JoJo claims that he went out of his way to get you the 'goood stuff.' So, his efforts would've been a total waste if you don't _just take it_."

"Tastes like shit. Thanks, but I think I'll wait it out."

"I know it tastes like shit, but _you _feel like shit and you're only gonna get worse if you don't down the stuff!" He sighed wearily. "And God knows, the last thing I want is for you to get worse…"

To his surprise, Max pulled back the covers just a little, revealing a pair of baby blues that, though slightly glassy, were still curious nonetheless.

"You really want me to take it?"

"Yes," he replied at once, dark eyes shining with concern and affection. "Jesus, mate, I'm worried about you. That's all."

After a moment's debate, Max heaved a sigh of false exasperation and held out his hand impatiently.

"Gimme the damn stuff."

Doing his best to hold back the smile that was pulling at his lips, he silently handed over both bottles (purple cold medicine, dark red cough syrup) and a spoon. Max downed them both quickly, making a face and shuddering each time the thick, burning liquid ran down his already enflamed throat.

"I don't care _what _flavor the bottle says, man," he told him after taking a much-needed sip of water. "No way in hell does that shit taste like grape or cherry."

"Mmm," he murmured in agreement, wrapping his arms around him and burying his nose in Max's sweet-smelling hair. "I like strawberries better, meself."

**۞۞۞**

Max slept until late in the evening, waking up only to take more medicine or use up nearly half of a box of tissues when he needed to blow his nose. He stayed by his friend's side the entire time. This much concern was excessive, he knew that, but somehow it would have felt wrong to withdraw from the bedroom—like he was leaving Max to fend for himself.

So he had stayed, stroking soft blond hair, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, holding him whenever he was racked with chills, simply being there while he slept. He wasn't sure if the other boy could sense his presence or not, but he derived some comfort from the thought that he could.

He was dozing lightly when at last he felt Max begin to stir. Stretching slightly, he glanced down to see his friend looking back up at him from where his head rested on his lap.

"Hey," he said softly. "How're you feeling?"

Max squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose, grimacing.

Laughing quietly, he affectionately ruffled his hair.

"I'll take that as a 'Like shit, Jude, what d'you think?'"

"You'd be right," the other boy replied raspily before covering his eyes and groaning.

"What's wrong, luv?"

Exhaling heavily, Max let his hands drop to his sides. "I'm hungry."

He smirked. "That's no surprise—when's the last time you ate anything?"

"Uh…the day before…yesterday…morning?"

"So…Saturday morning?"

"…yeah."

"You should definitely eat something, then."

To his surprise, Max looked up at him miserably and shook his head.

"I can't…"

His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why not?"

"Jude, I spent all of last night heaving my guts out and _then some_. If I eat something, I'll just throw it up ten seconds later." He swallowed, curling up on his side, arms wrapped around his middle. "I really…I don't wanna puke again. I just…can't."

"Hey," he said, tilting Max's chin upward so that their eyes met. "Listen t'me: That's not going to happen. I'll make you something light and you won't have to worry about it."

Max shook his head again, not believing him.

He stroked his hair, saying quietly, "It's not a matter of should—you have to eat something, luv. If you don't, you're only going to get sicker and sicker and…" He trailed off, not wanting to think about it. Instead, he lifted Max's head off of his lap and stood up briskly.

"I'll make toast—and I'll even put peanut butter on it," he added with a roll of his eyes. "Just because you're ill doesn't mean that your fetishes should dwindle, right?"

Max stuck his tongue out at him, muttering at him to shut up because he obviously had no taste (literally) if he didn't consider peanut butter to be amazing, delectable, and practically a Godsend to unworthy plebeians such as themselves.

He shook his head, grinning.

"I'll fix you some tea, too. How's that sound?"

"Mmm…very British," Max replied, smiling faintly. "One thing, though: I hate tea."

"Yeah, but it's great for you when you're ill," he countered. "Warms you up from the inside."

"And that's the best way to get warmed up," the other boy retorted, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm beginnin' to think that you could be near-death and still manage to act like an utter pervert."

"I _am _near-death, Judey. What happened to you trying to save me with delicious peanut butter toast and hot, disgustingly bitter beverages?"

"The tea won't be bitter if I add too much sugar and make it sweet." He smirked. "Like you."

"_Love_ you."

"Love _me?_"

"Yes," Max returned, nodding sleepily into his pillow. "You…I dunno. It doesn't make any sense, man—you're taking care of me. And you know you could have just as easily said 'Fuck you, you rich American asshole. Make your own damn tea and quit your bitching.' But you didn't. You're taking care of me. And, I just…I dunno. No one's every really done that for me, except…" He paused, thinking, then, smirking slightly, finally said, "You're gonna make a great mother some day."

He laughed, "What? I think you're a bit delirious, mate."

But Max shook his head insistently, his face completely serious.

"I mean it. You're really good at this—ridiculously, freakishly good at it. I mean, shit, man…" He smiled faintly. "I feel better just by having you around me. So, I figure that must be the reason." His smile widened. "Love you."

This should have come as a shock, and it did. It should have felt weird, but it didn't. He should have felt like a total sap, but he didn't. Instead, he simply leaned down and kissed him.

"Love you, too."

**۞۞۞**

**Notes**

…staggeringly vast – hooray for more _Coupling _references! Even if I'm the only one who gets them.

"Man, I don't _do _hangovers," – honestly, Max seems like one of those infuriatingly lucky people who could drink himself to the point of amnesia and yet wake up the next morning (or afternoon) feeling perfectly fine, if a little tired. Meanwhile, everyone else would be going "It's too early, shut the hell up, go _away _Max" whenever he came into the room, spouting ideas about going skinny-dipping. Or something.

"Ready?" Prudence asked… - wow, I actually included characters besides Max and Jude in one of my fics. Therefore, I'm going to be really paranoid about keeping everyone in-character, so, hopefully I have Prudence down. Honestly, she and Lucy are like the hardest ones for me to write, even though it seems like most people have difficulty with Max. Then again, this might be because I date and/or am attracted to guys like Max? It's post-Vietnam Max that I'm have trouble with because there are just _so _many ways to interpret how he would be.

…a hundred and twelve degree temperature – actually, he would be more than just half-dead if this were the case. So much for his majoring in medicine, huh?

He was probably faking, anyway. – oh, the foreshadowing. It's kinda sad just how apparent it is.

_Yes, I'm lonely. Wanna die._ – "Yer Blues" is like the ultimate emo song. That, and it fits this story so well—it's so over-the-top with the angst, which is exactly how Max is behaving, even though he _is _horribly ill. Oddly enough, I don't feel guilty about leaving out the word 'girl'—probably because they made a ton of alterations to the songs used in the movie.

Sally –out of all the one-shot OCs that I've created over the years, I think that she is one of my favorites. Any comments on her would be appreciated, since I tried to make her likeable and realistic, even though she's only in two scenes. Also, her name is from the song "Long Tally Sally," of course.

"Sure, Sadie, no problem," – wow, I actually wrote Sadie, too. I'm on a roll with this one. Same thing applies, of course. Tell me if she's in-character, believable, all that good stuff.

…but I'll send JoJo out… - in the movie it seemed like Sadie would be the type who would always ask JoJo to do stuff for her and that this would be one of the things about her that drove him crazy (but you know he loves it nonetheless).

If he happened to be there at the time, he'd laugh, but be sure to help pull Max to his feet again. – of course, this is a metaphor for Jude's willingness to always be there for Max, no matter what kind of situation he's gotten himself into. Jude's a good BFF/boyfriend like that. …and now I suddenly want someone to draw a picture of the boys with their arms around each other's shoulders, wearing those BFF necklaces.

"I like strawberries better, meself." – reference to _Oatmeal Raisin Cookies_, if you recall. Apparently, even when it's sweaty and disheveled, Jude still thinks that Max's hair smells like strawberries.

"I'll make toast—and I'll even put peanut butter on it" – Max's inexplicable love for peanut butter returns.

"The tea won't be bitter if I add too much sugar and make it sweet." – which is, I think, the only way anyone would ever get Max to drink tea. That, or if they put something alcoholic in it.

"…make it sweet." He smirked. "Like you." – another reference to _Oatmeal Raisin Cookies_, if you recall how Max complained that he didn't want to put dope in spicy food—he wanted something sweet like himself. Honestly, it's one of those lines that just felt very Max-esque to me, so I couldn't resist brining it back. :)

"Love you, too." – hooray for one final Beatles reference, even though the song is actually "Love You To," but still. This story didn't have nearly as many as _Part-Time Lover_ did, but nonetheless, I'm still pretty satisfied with the number of refs that I managed to throw in.

**Disclaimer****:** Sadly, I own nothing. The Fab Four and Julie Taymore own everything. Except Jude who, especially after reading this story, is undeniably Max's bitch. But he's happy to do it, so it's all good.


End file.
